


the law of love won’t keep you safe

by irritable



Series: things can get ugly, but we're still a team [1]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: (and the beginning of some sex but the focus of the scene is the dialogue), (theres fight scenes but nothing too graphic), Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, F/F, Guns, Implied Sexual Content, also protective beca over baby spy emily, i have my own ideas sure but whatever floats your boat, outcome and backstories are open to your imagination, this isnt exactly mr and mrs smith au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4686281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irritable/pseuds/irritable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not that Beca was a shitty spy. </p><p>Beca wasn’t a shitty agent at all, she was pretty good, better than Jesse, that’s for sure. She was just blind as hell when it came to Chloe Beale.</p><p>Turns out, so was Chloe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the law of love won’t keep you safe

**Author's Note:**

> im not entirely happy with the ending and lots of what they do is up to assumption, i have my own ideas on their backstories and what they do, but ive left most of it up to you. 
> 
> ((but if you want to know my idea on it my ask is open on my tumblr griffnsclarke.tumblr.com))
> 
> iMPORTANT:  
> title from "law of love" by kill it kid  
> the story is focused on beca/chloe rather than the specifics of their career thats why lots of things are left out!  
> jaubrey if you squint super hard but i originally intended to have side staubrey

Beca sighed for the fifth time since she slid into the passenger seat of Jesse’s car (which was a whole two minutes ago).

 

“Shut up, Alpha 1.”

 

“Dude-”

 

“It’s _Alpha_ _2_ , not ‘dude’.”

 

Beca sighed again. “ _Dude_ , I’m bored and this stupid little amateur of a terrorist isn’t doing anything.”

 

“I have a chocolate bar stashed under your seat,” Jesse said through a sigh of his own and a roll of his eyes. “Will you pay attention and actually participate in our stake out, now?”

 

“I’ll think about it,” Beca replied with a scoff as she rifled under the chair for the bar. “Okay, seriously, this has to stop.”

 

Jesse tilted his head, eyes still on the piece of rust people called a door. “Stop what?”

 

His partner grunted as her hand jerked out with chocolate in hand. “I get that you like movies, but you’ve _been_ on real missions and you’re actually a fucking spy.”

 

Jesse quirked an eyebrow and waited for her to elaborate.

 

She rolled her eyes as she ripped the wrapper open, chucking the trash onto Jesse’s lap. “Why do you feel the need to hide everything in places? No one is going to maim you for a chocolate bar.”

 

“You never know, Beca.”

 

“Ha!” Beca spat out, mouth still full of chocolate. “You said my name, not Alpha 1, I’ll report you, Agent Alpha 2.”

 

Jesse huffed, opening his mouth to retort, instead he let out a, “Oh, look, the target is hiding his bomb and staring at us.”

 

A pause.

 

“ _Fuck._ ”

 

Beca scarfed the rest of her chocolate bar down before reaching under the chair again and pulling out cool metal. “I dibs cutting him off.”

 

“What? Unfair, you went last time.”

 

Rolling her eyes, Beca prepared her weapons and climbed out the car in one swift movement. “Stop whining, the target is already running.”

 

Jesse let out a prolonged groan as he tucked two pistols into his waistband and double checked the safety of the one in his hand before casting her one last glare and sprinting to the door.

 

She sent him a smirk as he kicked the door down with his gun raised before jogging to the other end of the building to do her own job.

 

She relaxed against the rough brick by the only other entrance to the building – the one by a street – and hummed to herself, waiting for a bang – either from a gun or from the door beside her.

 

As she waited, she traced her finger over the sleek metal of her pistol under her large coat and sang the lyrics to _Titanium_ to herself under her breath.

 

_‘Clang’!_

 

Beca kicked off the wall, spinning to face the gaping doorway and holding the gun in front of her with a bent elbow, so the gun was concealed to the public by her stomach.

 

“Don’t move!” Beca hissed out to the panicking man before her.

 

The barrel of her gun pressed against the flesh of his stomach, hidden by their bodies now. “Okay, turn around – slow – and walk back in. Make any sudden movements and your knee eats metal.”

 

Beads of sweat slunk down his already slick forehead and his eyes darted to the left. He spun around and made to run.

 

“Nope, don’t think so. I ran up two flights of stairs and then back down for this.”

 

Beca snorted at Jesse’s breathless huff. “Okay, let’s get him in and cuff him, don’t shoot without a silencer, there’s a stupid get together at some shit hipster café from across the street and we can’t alarm them.”

 

Jesse nodded and did as told, and in under five minutes, the terrorist was picked up and taken for questioning and Beca was free for the rest of the day.

 

She made her way to the nearest café and ordered a large cup of coffee, her phone already open on Angry Birds (“I don’t care that it’s probably older than my grandmother, Jesse, I’m still playing it.”).

 

“Shit hipster café that you apparently go to.”

 

Without even turning around from her cozy spot at the back of the shop, she responded, “It was closest and the get together moved to the bar two spots over.”

 

Jesse snorted, sipping at his own drink. He sat with his back towards Beca’s, grinning fondly into the mirror opposite him and at the short head of brown behind his. “Whatever you say, _DJ_.”

 

Beca slid her phone into her pocket. “Just because my hobby is slightly shitty and hipster-y, it doesn’t mean _I’m_ a hipster.”

 

“No, you’re _alternative_.” Jesse rolled his eyes as he uttered the last word (in a high pitched voice that was meant to be an imitation of Beca). Just as he was about to say something more (something annoying or something to do with movies, which is basically the same thing), his burner phone chimed.

 

“Work?” Beca asked, cradling her coffee.

 

“Yup, gotta go. Catch ya later, Becaw!” Jesse cried, drawing the attention of the employees and customers nearby. (What type of spy was he? Jesus Christ.)

 

“God, just leave already. Don’t you have a Posen to impress?” the brunette muttered under her breath as she finished the rest of her coffee. “And do you _have_ to sit behind me, can you not sit in front of my like a normal person?”

 

“We’re supposed to be _cool_ ,” Jesse managed to holler back before he swung himself out into the harsh winter air and off to interrogate some hacker who had apparently hacked into somewhere he probably shouldn’t even know about.

 

She scoffed to herself, nudging the coffee on the table and moving to get up as well.

 

“Boyfriend?”

 

Beca halted, fingers itching for the weapon on her body and surprise smacked onto her face.

 

She snapped her head up, mouth gaping and eyes wide at the woman who had _snuck up on her._

 

“What?” she finally managed dumbly.

 

The woman giggled, sitting herself down opposite Beca.

 

 _Red,_ is all that Beca registers, because honestly the woman’s hair was so red. “I asked if that guy you were not so subtly talking to was your boyfriend.”

 

“Oh. Jesse. No.” She blinked as her hand eased out of her coat. “Boyfriend. Jesse. Definitely not. _Ew._ ”

 

She finally took in the woman across from her. Wild red curls were tucked under a beanie, a large beam lit up her face, and her eyes glinted blue under the dim lighting.

 

“I’m Chloe Beale,” she said with amusement colouring her tone. _Chloe. Chloe is goddamn beautiful._ “What _was_ not-boyfriend doing anyway?”

 

Beca cleared her throat. “He likes spy movies. Like, a lot.”

 

“Ah, I see. Do you like spy movies as much as he does?”

 

The brunette fiddled with the handle of the knife in her waistband, suddenly wary of the stranger asking too many questions. “Um, no. I don’t like movies.”

 

Chloe looked dumbfounded, quickly snapping out of it and pouting. “Oh, man.”

 

Beca tightened her grip around the knife. “Why?”

 

The redhead frowned for a good couple of seconds before she replied, “D’you want to go out with me to sing karaoke or to eat lunch with me this Friday? I mean, I was originally going to ask if you wanted to watch a movie with me, but you don’t like them, so…”

 

Speechless. A professional spy, speechless.

 

Suspicion seeped into her mind.

 

She jerked to the side when her phone buzzed in her pocket and she quickly sent Chloe an apologetic smile before gripping her phone.

**_Kicked Puppy [15:48]:_ ** _Say yes._

**_Kicked Puppy [15:49]:_ ** _And also why wouldn’t you date me. Anyone attracted to men would want to date me._

**_Me [15:49]:_ ** _Are you fucking spying on me? If you are, I will kick your ass into tomorrow. In the meantime, on't you have someone to beat up?_

**_Kicked Puppy [15:49]:_ ** _Chill, you can’t tell me that you didn’t plant bugs on me as well. Also, say yes to the date. I did background check for you. Chloe Beale, works at a music store, 26, single, bi, into brunettes. ;)_

**_Kicked Puppy [15:49]:_ ** _If you say yes to the date, I’ll do whatever you say for the next two months without complaint. Also, did I tell you she’s into the artsy type? She has this old dating profile her friends made her and it’s a gold mine._

 

She rolled her eyes as he continued to spam her with her _preferences_ , shoving the phone back into her pocket, she turned to face a patiently waiting Chloe. “Um, sorry.”

 

“It’s totally fine, anything wrong?” Chloe’s eyebrows creased and Beca had to fight off the urge to smooth it out.

 

Beca rapidly shook her head.

 

Chloe’s face brightened immediately and she let out a cute, little sigh of relief. “Oh, that’s good. So, the date?”

 

“Uh.” She clenched her jaw as the vibrating from her pocket increased. “I don’t sing. Or do the whole dating thing.”

 

The redhead’s shoulders fell. “I’m so sorry for bothering you.”

 

She could practically feel the disappointment in the buzzing that came next. “But, um, I could totally, like, try the dating thing out.” A date wouldn’t hurt, and so wouldn’t having Jesse as her slave.

 

Chloe beamed.

 

 

 

 

Beca’s elbow whipped backwards, slamming into the perp’s jaw and sending her stumbling into the peeling walls.

 

She pushed herself off the floor, gun whipping up with her hand, pointing at the snarling, pale woman.

 

The perp herself had her own gun pointed at Beca. “What are you? CIA? KGB?” the woman sneered in a heavily accented voice, “You will not stop us.”

 

“Do I sound Russian to you?” Beca scoffed, inching closer to the woman, gun raised and lips set in a line.

 

Before the woman could get a word out, Beca’s right hand shot out and wrenched the gun out of her hand, wielding both guns out in front of her. She backed the woman up against the aged, yellow wall, unloading one of the guns as she did so and pressing the other against the woman’s chest.

 

“Top floor is secure,” she announced, after hearing an acknowledgement through her earpiece, she cuffed the perp. “Time to go.”

 

The woman barely struggled as she was tugged out the room and into the (slightly) trustworthy hands of Fat Amy. “Whoa, Beca _effin’_ Mitchell, cuffing the baddies half an hour before her dinner date with a certain lady.”

 

Beca froze.

 

“You didn’t remember, did you?” Amy grinned.

 

“I did.” Because what type of spy would she be if she couldn’t remember things. “I’m just being _risky_ , girls like risky.”

 

The perp yanked violently against Amy’s hold, only to be kicked in the back of the knees by Beca. She landed with a heavy thud on the floor with a glare twisted upon her features. “You Americans will never stop us.”

 

“Right, shut up, 2007 Lindsay Lohan,” Amy hollered as she heaved the wiggling woman off the floor and pushed her out the door towards a van. “I’ll get Jessie J. to help haul the crazy bitch back to base for interrogation, you go make out with Chloe.”

 

“Did Jesse tell _everyone_ about her?!” Beca scowled, adjusting the coat on her lithe frame before stomping to her car. Jesse had better do everything she told him to do for the next two months and Chloe better not be some psychotic killer if she was going to have to deal with this.

 

She managed to make it to the shitty hipster café two minutes late for their date, but Chloe laughed it off and simply led them towards a cute diner near the café.

 

Once they had both slotted themselves in a booth by the window and ordered, Chloe grinned and Beca knew deep down she was probably fucked, because Chloe’s grin is _nice_. Chloe’s grin is safe.

 

“So, what do you do for a living?”

 

“I work at a music production company, Residual Heat. What about you?” she sounded genuinely interested, because maybe she is.

 

Chloe's beam was bright and _real_. "I work at this music store with this really cute chime on the door. I'm sorry, but it's just awesome."

 

She’s fucked, but not _that_ fucked, because she was proficient in the skill of being a snarky asshole and lying. Especially lying.

 

 

 

 

Sometimes she forgot why she chose to go on that one date.

 

Sometimes being when Chloe forced her to watch some stupid a capella thing at stupid Lincoln Center.

 

Then, she remembered Chloe’s smile under the bright LED lights at that diner and the shining diamonds that were her eyes.

 

And she also remembered Jesse’s spam of texts, which reminded her to sweep for bugs on her clothing after she could finally escape this fucking _hell_ called a capella.

 

A light brush on her cheek brought her back to reality and she tilted her head into Chloe’s with a small pout on her lips. “When does this shit end?”

 

“Don’t be such a grump, Becs, you did that for the first two I dragged you to. I’m beginning to think you don’t like a capella.”

 

“Gee, what gave you that idea?” Beca groused.

 

Chloe sighed. “Fine, if you pay attention until the end, I’ll give you a discount on music equipment.”

 

“I work at Residual Heat, I don’t need music equipment,” Beca replied dryly.

 

The redhead pouted, shoulders slumping and eyes widening the tiniest amount.

 

Beca rolled her eyes, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Chloe’s puckered lips. “I’ll only pay attention, because the past four months have been great with the waffles you make.”

 

“Only the waffles?” Chloe murmured as she pressed feather kisses on Beca’s lips.

 

“And the sex.”

 

“Only?” she pressed on.

 

Beca leaned back with a thoughtful hum. “Pretty much.”

 

“Well, there goes your waffles.”

 

“Wait, no, that was a joke! Chloe!”

 

She decided to stick around, even after Jesse finished his two months of hard labour.

 

" _Chloe_ , are you climbing the stage? Oh my god."

 

She didn't regret her decision. 

 

" _Chloe! Get off!"_

 

Sometimes.

 

 

 

 

Seven months down. Two of those months were filled with ‘business trips’. Surprisingly, half of those trips were Chloe’s.

 

Still, seven months of bliss.

 

Then: “Dude, it’s not a big deal.”

 

“ _Dude?_ You’re calling me _dude_ right now?” Chloe hissed, slamming her cup down on the table and glaring hard at Beca’s exasperated face – the glare only becomes more menacing when she rolls her eyes.

 

Beca sighed. “ _Okay_ , I’m sorry.” And because Beca was a little shit, she couldn’t help herself when she added, “ _Dude_.”

 

Chloe grounded her teeth together, stomping to her feet and beginning her angry storm back to her own apartment.

 

“Whoa, Chlo, no,” she rushed out, only grimacing slightly at her string of rhymes, because that’s so _lame_. “Chloe, wait, I’m sorry. Like, for real.”

 

She continued to fume, however she did slow her pace enough for Beca to catch up and grab her arm. “What’s so bad about meeting my parents?”

 

“ _Jesus._ Chloe – _Please_ – Just don’t make me, okay? Don’t make me go, please. I can’t do that.” She resisted the urge to tack on ‘crap’ at the end of that sentence.

 

“I won’t make you, Beca. You shouldn’t even think that I’d _force_ you to do something like this, but did you have to react that way?” Chloe almost yelled, wrenching herself away from Beca and taking longer strides away from the brunette.

 

Beca winced. Maybe it wasn’t really nice to laugh in her girlfriend’s face after said girlfriend asked her to meet the parents, it also probably meant that shoving breadsticks into her mouth afterwards wasn’t ideal either. Shoving breadsticks into her mouth definitely wasn't a good idea - her being Chloe's mouth.

 

“Chloe, listen, please, I’m sorry. For the love of god, I’m sorry. It’s just, y’know, things like that are scary and stuff.” Also, meeting the parents was serious. Actually, serious. As in, you might marry this woman someday serious. She’s a spy, she shouldn’t even be considering _casual_. “I’m sorry.”

 

Chloe stopped at the foot of her apartment and stared into Beca’s wide eyes. “It’s not going to get any less scary the more you wait, Beca. It’s not any less scary, but I’d wait with you for however long it takes. You make it sound like I wouldn’t.”

 

The spy glanced down at the autumn leaves gathering at her feet, honestly, she should have expected this. Chloe wasn’t a spy and even if the first date they had felt like yesterday, it had been 7 months. Chloe wanted more. Chloe deserved more.

 

She sighed. “Okay.” She dropped her head. “Okay. I’m sorry. I just, _god_ , I told you at the beginning, I told you that I didn’t do this dating thing. This dating thing scares me, really, legitimately makes me want to piss my pants.”

 

Chloe raised her eyebrows, leaning against the brick wall of her apartment by a pile of raked leaves and crossing her arms over each other – unimpressed.

 

“Um. My parents. They divorced when I was young, I hated my dad for it, him and stupid Sheila for just ruining _everything_. My mom loved him. She loved him and she loved him till she drowned in it. I can’t do that.” Beca’s voice cracked, “I just about died watching her like that, and I don’t want that.”

 

By now, Chloe had her arms thrown over Beca’s back and wrapped tightly around her waist, allowing Beca’s honest to god sorrow to soak her cardigan. “There’s a thing about how I love, Beca, when I love, worlds can’t keep me away. When I love, I don’t leave without good reason. When I love, I mean it.”

 

Beca sniffed, shoving her face into the crook of Chloe’s neck, because she’s short and she might as well take whatever advantages that gives, including comfortable face parking.

 

“I love you,” Chloe muttered into Beca’s hair after a moment of silence, contentment. “I mean it.”

 

Beca pulled back, arms still tight around Chloe’s midsection. “Yeah, I’d love me, too." A beat of disbelieving silence. "No! I love you, too! Don’t tickle me, I swear to god, Beale.”

 

They spent the next hour re-raking all the leaves that were ruined by Beca’s squirming with goofy grins.

 

She met the parents a week later and Chloe was pretty sure they loved Beca more than her now.

 

 

 

 

“What the fucking fuck do you fucking mean that he was already gone when you got there?”

 

Jesse grimaced at the language. “I _mean_ , the room is messy and there’s blood on the floor and Krämer isn’t here.”

 

Beca ignored him, switching lines and connecting to headquarters back in America. “Posen!” she barked the moment the line was connected. “Krämer isn’t in his house in Berlin, what type of shit intel did you give us?”

 

Now, normally, Beca wouldn’t bother speaking to Aubrey Posen in the tone she was using then, because the blonde’s bite was definitely worse than her bark and you don’t want to get on her bad side, but she was in a car with Jesse for two hours staring at the house.

 

“Excuse me, Agent Mitchell?” Affronted. Not good. “My _shit_ intel came from an undercover agent by the codename of Thorn who saw and has video evidence of Krämer entering the house.”

 

 _Thorn_ , Beca scoffed, _subtle, Cynthia Rose, subtle_. She closed her eyes with a huff, Cynthia Rose was trustworthy and she couldn’t argue with video evidence.

 

“Then, why isn’t he here?” Beca spat out, stomping up the stairs after sweeping the entire floor thrice to meet with Jesse on the second floor. “We’ve checked everywhere, the hidden rooms the floorplan you sent us only contained weapons and anything of use looked like it was taken already.”

 

“Thorn says Krämer never left the house after entering it in the morning, she didn’t hear anything suspicious, but she is aware something could have happened during the outdoor concert down the road. Is there any evidence as to whether he left through the window?”

 

Beca didn’t make a sound as she bolted up the stairs to where Jesse was crouched, examining the blood stain. “Any sign of escape, Jess?”

 

Jesse swiveled around. “Look at this.”

 

There was shards of glass on the inside of the room by the table and the chair was knocked over. The blood is splattered on the floor and when Jesse pointed, Beca saw a bullet lodged into the wall. “Posen. There’s signs of struggle.”

 

She snapped photos and sent it over rapidly, eyes scanning the room quickly, assessing everything.

 

A shard of glass lay farther from the rest of the shattered jar, and there’s red staining the jagged edge. She pulled a zip lock bag from her coat and gingerly picked the shard up in her gloved fingers, she dropped it into the bag.

 

“I’m taking some of this back to base for lab analysis, Posen, can we get a flight out of here in the next hour?” she said as she beckoned Jesse to begin picking anything important up and made to leave herself.

 

Once he loaded the evidence into the back of their car, he hopped into the driver’s seat and turned the engine on, waiting for Beca’s directions.

 

“Posen’s got us on a _commercial_ flight back in 45 minutes. Think you can go slower, so we’ll miss the flight and she’ll have to let us take the jet?” Beca huffed. “She put us in _economy_ class _._ ”

 

Jesse snorted, pulling away from the building and speeding towards the freeway. “I think we can fit in some quality bonding time together on that flight, Beca.”

 

“I think you’re full of shit,” Beca replied coolly.

 

“But I’m _your_ sack full of shit, besides, don’t you want to get back to America to see your girlfriend?” Jesse wiggled his eyebrows.

 

Beca pressed her gun to Jesse’s head (safety’s on, because safety first) and scowled. “Do _not_ talk about her on mission or when we are in areas that are not secure.” He didn’t bat an eyelash at the metal pressed against his temple. “Plus, she’s here in Germany for a business trip. Something about branching out the store.”

 

“Aw, you’re cranky because you miss her. That’s so cute.”

 

“Shut the fuck up, Jesse.” (He wasn’t wrong.)

 

When they got back, Beca spent hours at the gym at the base while waiting for the results on lab analysis for the evidence they gathered. There was no match for the blood. It wasn’t Krämer’s.

 

 

 

 

“Chloe, your parents called, said they’re visiting us next week!” Beca called, she flicked the TV off and peered down her hallway at the bathroom. “Chlo? Did you hear me?”

 

A loud hum emits from behind the door, followed by a gurgled, “Yeah!”

 

Beca pushed the door open, catching Chloe spitting into the sink and a flashy, toothpastey smile. “Do you not knock, Mitchell?”

 

“Should I remind you of that time in the shower?”

 

“Oh, but you weren’t complaining then,” Chloe shot back.

 

Beca smirked. “Still not.”

 

Her girlfriend let out a low, “That’s what I thought,” before yanking her shirt over her head and changing into a looser one draped over the top of the toilet, but not before Beca spotted an ugly, rotten yellow bruise tarnishing her skin.

 

Her heart leapt into her throat, the worst scenarios flashing into her mind.

 

“Becs?”

 

Her gaze was pinned to the area just above her waist, a frown twisting her lips and a crease at her eyebrows.

 

“Beca.”

 

Chloe wasn’t a stranger to injuries, she had lots of old scars and wounds from when she spent her childhood living on her grandparents’ farm, but none that were recent.

 

“Beca, seriously. Beca.”

 

She blinked. Her eyes snapped over to meet Chloe’s. “What happened to your waist?”

 

Chloe only tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. “What?”

 

“The bruise. There’s a bruise on your waist. Are you okay?” Beca lifted the shirt tenderly, hands running over the sickly coloured skin as light as a feather.

 

“Oh. That. Almost forgot. I walked right into the counter at the music store on Thursday.”

 

She walked into furniture a lot over the years.

 

So did Beca.

 

 

 

 

Beca slammed her knuckles into the bag. Again and again.

 

She scowled and continued her assault for five more minutes, not once pausing or weakening. The tendons in her arms stuck out and her face was red by the time Jesse dragged her away from the punching bag.

 

“The stupid bitch keeps on taking our targets, I’m basically out of a job and Posen’s on my ass about it, let me get at the bag again.” She scrambled to her feet, but instantly halted when she felt her bra strap _snap against_ her tense and sweat soaked back. “Did you just –? My bra strap? You better hope to god you didn’t just.”

 

Jesse chuckled. “I think it’s time for another kind of stress relief, Beca, your girlfriend was calling the office phone asking for Beca and she pressed the matter when Denise told her you were out.”

 

“Oh, fuck, okay,” Beca let out through a blow of breath, she threw a towel over her shoulder and headed to the changing room. “I’ll go clean up and call her back, meet you at the diner in half an hour. Bring money, because I’m not going to.”

 

“Aye aye, captain,” Jesse barked out and saluted mockingly. “Go get ya girl, Becs.”

 

Beca rolled her eyes, not bothering to point out that she technically already got Chloe.

 

She had barely enough time to dial the first digit of Chloe’s number on her phone before Chloe’s voice was heard. She clenched her fists, throwing the phone down onto her desk and shoving through her door to see Chloe Beale at the front desk of base.

 

“Chlo?” She stepped out of her office and strode to Chloe. “What are you doing here? Did you need something?”

 

Chloe twirled around, finally giving Denise a break. “Beca! Why didn’t you pick up your phone?”

 

“I was at the gym, just got back from there actually.” She lazily gestured behind her. “Did you need something?” she repeated.

 

“My parents are pressuring me into inviting you over for dinner again. My mom threatened to throw Mr. Snuggles, the cat, out of the house, because they love you so much. I can’t risk Mr. Snuggles’ life, Beca.” Chloe huffed, pushing her way into Beca’s office without bothering asking for permission.

 

Beca followed, frantically shoving mission briefs into the lowest drawer while Chloe was examining the records she had slotted against one wall. “Um, okay, yeah. I’m busy tomorrow, so can we do Saturday?”

 

“Yeah – Oh, wait, no. Stella, my coworker, invited us for drinks.” Chloe puzzled over their schedules as she slumped into the plush chair opposite Beca.

 

“And you said yes?” Beca quirked an eyebrow, relaxing once she was sure her office looked ‘normal’.

 

Chloe scoffed. “Duh, you spend your Saturday’s binge watching shitty television, Becs, I’m doing you a favour.”

 

“Wow, I love you, too.” Beca huffed.

 

“Oh, hush.”

 

“Make me.” Chloe smirked, leaning forward with her elbows propping her head up on the wooden desk.

 

The door swung open and Chloe pulled away swiftly and smoothly. “Hey, Beca, I thought we were going to the dine – Oh, hi. I’m Je-ay. Jay. I’m Jay.”

 

Beca’s gaze darkened and Jesse shot her an awkward, apologetic side glance.

 

“Hi, Jay, nice to meet you! I’m Chloe,” she introduced herself, climbing to her feet and shaking his hand. “Do you work with Beca?”

 

Beca cut in before Jesse could speak again, “Yeah. Coworker, known him for, like, 5 – wait, 6 – years already. Jay. Good ol’ going out the door _right now_ Jay.”

 

“Yes. Jay is going to leave and not tell any embarrassing stories about Beca to you, like that time when we were at the gym and she dropped a dumbbell on her foot and-”

 

Beca rapidly swiped an eraser off her desk and launched it at Jesse’s head, striking him square on the nose. He scowled. “ _Bye_ , Jay.”

 

When the door clicked shut, Jesse leaving with a pout, Chloe faced Beca. “How come you never talked about him?”

 

Beca gave her a distracted hum.

 

“How come you never talked about Jay? You guys seem close,” Chloe pressed on.

 

“Oh, yeah, we’re tight, but the man does not forget a single thing, especially embarrassing things.” Beca’s mind ran for a less flimsy and weak excuse. “Um, and also I’m trying to come off as cool here, Chlo, can’t have that dick telling you about that a capella phase.”

 

A beat. “Oh, _shit_.”

 

“Ha! You said a capella was lame!” Chloe cried out. Beca’s shoulders relaxed, relieved that Chloe bought it.

 

“It is, it’s terrible. Biggest regret. I swear to god, Chloe, if you tell anyone.” Beca narrowed her eyes at a smirking Chloe. “ _Chloe_.”

 

“You can _sing!_ ”

 

Ugh. _Ugh._ (She can.) (She does. A week later, in Chloe’s living room and under layers of blankets.)

 

 

 

 

Beca wanted something honest. She wanted something real.

 

She could barely remember the last time she set foot in the shitty hipster café, a year and a half ago after taking down a domestic terrorist and meeting the brightest, most blinding person she’d ever have the pleasure to meet.

 

Yet, here she was. Standing by the rack of cookies and gnawing at her lips.

 

“Becs!” She spun around, immediately putting a stop to the heavy examination of the chocolate chip cookies and grinning slightly. “I haven’t seen you in forever! Did you get back from Peru yesterday?”

 

Before Beca could reply, she was almost knocked off her feet by Chloe’s entire body weight. “Yeah,” she finally muttered into Chloe’s shoulder. “I missed you.”

 

“I missed you, too, Becs. How was your trip?” Chloe pulled away with her beam in place.

 

“Great. Good. The artist that Luke wanted me to check out was already scouted by some other dude, though. That’s been happening a lot lately. It’s annoying.” Okay, so it wasn’t the truth, but it was somewhat close. That’s the closest she could get have ever gotten to honest, then.

 

There _was_ some dick wad taking down the enemies, which normally wouldn’t have been bad, if it wasn’t for the fact that the dick wad wasn’t part of her agency, and that the dick wad could be as dangerous as the people they were snatching.

 

(Also, Posen had been especially cranky without her interrogation time.)

 

Chloe pouted at the bad news, speedily shooting off her coffee order before pulling Beca to the plush chairs at the back. “Was the artist good?”

 

“I mean, not shit, but not the best.” Beca hated lying. She hated lying to Chloe. Her eyes flickered away for a brief moment. “Hey, grab your coffee, I’ve got something planned.”

 

Her girlfriend did as told and they were strolling through the busy streets soon enough. “Where are we going?”

 

Beca grinned over her shoulder, holding her hand out for Chloe. “Want to spend the entire day living out the life of gross romantic comedy couples?”

 

Chloe beamed.

 

They exhausted Beca’s wallet at the carnival, ditched the theater half way through _Mission Impossible_ , and visited the pet store to fawn over hamsters (the pet store idea was Chloe’s and the fawning was done internally by Beca).

 

All the while, they tugged at each other’s fingers and stared adoringly like teenagers with their first love.

 

It was nine o’clock when they pulled up at a make out point and were sprawled over the hood of Chloe’s car. Beca leaned against the glass, playing with Chloe’s hair that was spilled across her lap, a beautiful sea of autumn leaves against the material of her jeans. She sighed wistfully.

 

Lying. She did that easily. She could do that in her sleep.

 

“Chloe?” she whispered into the air. It’s summer, but the night makes everything sharper, crisp.

 

“Yeah?” Chloe stared into Beca’s eyes.

 

Like that, with Beca staring down at her ocean and Chloe gazing into the stars, she asked tentatively, “Let’s get married.”

 

Like that, with Chloe looking into the expanse of universe captured in Beca’s eyes and Beca smoothing out the waves of red, Chloe replied surely, “Yes.”

 

Something real. To Beca, something real was the eyes that stole the blue from the ocean and the ocean filled with a deeper, richer orange-red.

 

Lying was easy, she hated it, but it’s simple. Sometimes, she almost convinced herself she wasn’t lying.

 

 

 

 

It was an outdoor ceremony, with scarce witnesses, but ones who were genuinely happy for them. The birds sang their tunes and the light breeze and warm glow of the sun served a perfect image for the iPhone cameras.

 

Beca didn’t invite her parents to her wedding, as far as Chloe knew, they were dead. Chloe’s parents cried at the ceremony and Jesse fought the proud smile on his face from his spot by Beca’s side.

 

She almost bolted before the wedding. Marriage seemed permanent. Marriage seemed forever. She didn’t know whether she could lie forever.

 

She stayed. Her heart filled with warmth and her lungs tried to memorize the smell of autumn and grass forever. To remember when she didn't lie. When she said her vows with a proud smile.

 

Chloe had tripped as she neared the top of the hill. Beca caught her and with Chloe fighting off giggles and shaking with laughter in her arms, Beca knew she would do it for Chloe. She would lie for as long as Chloe would let her. She would lie.

 

 

 

 

They lived within walking distance from the shitty hipster café, much to Beca’s chagrin, and their large loft was filled with Ikea furniture.

 

DJ and Music Producer Beca Mitchell could afford a swanky space, but it didn’t mean she could pay for the furniture that makes it swankier. (Though, she did buy out the two floors directly below their floor and put up extra security around the place. Oddly enough, it was pretty secure in the first place.)

 

They’re first fight as a married couple was whether or not to buy the matching set of cat pajamas (“God dammit, Chloe, I’m not going to wear that piece of crap, I swear to _god.”_ ), in the end Chloe won, but Beca only ever wore them if she wanted something from Chloe.

 

The first two months of their marriage was spent in their honeymoon phase, having wild – no - consummating their marriage by making wild, wild _love_  all over their house and being giggling idiots during the day.

 

The third month was spent with less giggling and movie marathons. By the fourth, Beca had to fly out to Beijing to meet with another agent, she left with kisses and a roll of her eyes. The fifth, Chloe flew out to Russia to open up a branch of her store there, she left with kisses and teary eyes (so dramatic).

 

Posen came in tow with the sixth month with assignments and news about an organization Krämer was involved with.

 

“Congratulations on your marriage and all, but you still have a job. The German terrorist group, calling themselves ‘DSM’ have been rumoured to have grouped in America and are planning some sort of attack in a populated area. You will receive intel and I want you to scout the area with Agent Jesse.”

 

The raging blonde bitch had the nerve to arrive on Beca’s doorstep and Beca had to dig her nails into the doorframe to keep from clawing her eyes out. At least she had the sense to show up during Chloe’s work hours.

 

Beca let out a shaky breath. “Okay, I’ll do that,” she said, eyes hard and chilling. Posen nodded once, turning to leave. “Oh, and, _Aubrey_ , do not _ever_ come here again.”

 

Posen hesitated at the elevator, feeling Beca’s hard stare burning into her back. She slanted her head, catching Beca in the corner of her eye. “I,” she started carefully, “will not intrude again, but you must know, there may be another party in this war against DSM. Keep this to yourself and Jesse only.”

 

She didn’t apologize. She didn’t say anything after the warning, just strolled into the elevator and left Beca there, seething.

 

When Chloe came back, she found Beca downing a beer and grumbling at all the inaccuracies in the _James Bond_ movies.

 

 

 

 

They infiltrated a secure basement that belonged to DSM, finding plans and some lackeys. Jesse and his team gathered the evidence, while Beca and her newly trained agents arrested the Germans.

 

Agent Em (she insisted on the name, Beca understood. Who would want to be called Agent _Junk_?) stuck by Beca’s side as she observed the Germans being shackled to a secure van.

 

Beca glanced at the younger girl with a raised eyebrow, Emily’s hands were shaking and her eyes stared wide at the one injured man on their team (he wasn’t on guard and was grazed on the side). “What’s up, Emily?”

 

“Oh, it’s nothing.” She blushed when Beca gave her a disbelieving look. “How do you do this all the time?”

 

She looked almost embarrassed to ask. “Can you be more specific?”

 

Emily gnawed at her lip. “How do you deal with this and keeping up appearances in public? How do you kill a target and go to the supermarket for cereal on the same day?”

 

A soft smile pulled on the edges of Beca’s lips, she reminisced the early years of her career, nervous and almost pure.

 

“I know what you mean. Not many people know this, not in the agency anyway, but I’m married, Emily. I’m married to the love of my life, I’m so sure of her, but sometimes I’m not sure how _I_ go on like this.” She smirked at Emily’s wide eyes. “Then I remember. I remember, I _lie_.”

 

She left after that, allowing Emily to stew in the truth. She was young and inexperienced, she got herself into this job. Lying was her life. Lying was Emily’s life now.

 

Beca strode into the wide room, crinkling her nose at the musky odor of the damp basement and stepping into the middle of the room where a metal table cleared of evidence stood. She ran her fingers along the icy surface with her smirk still playing at her lips.

 

She plucked a pen that had presumably rolled off the table during their raid off the floor and brought the uncapped tip to the table. Then, she pressed lightly on the metal and scrawled out a message in cursive (she normally wrote in blocky letters).

 

_Got here first this time. Suck my dick._

 

When Jesse joined her to tell her they were taking off soon, he barked out a laugh at her crude message and yanked her away.

 

A week later, they kick down the door to a warehouse, guns blazing and jaws set. It’s empty, trashed. On the wall, _I’m flattered, but I’m taken by someone with a vagina._

 

Beca fired off three bullets into the center of the message and told the team to sweep the area.

 

 

 

 

It was unfortunate, Beca thought, that whenever she came back from a shitty day at work, Chloe was as chipper as that one dwarf from _Snow White_ and whenever Chloe came back steaming because some dick at the store pissed her off, Beca was as closest as she could be to jolly.

 

But the mornings were okay. The mornings were Beca’s favourite, no matter how much she hated getting up before 7:00 AM.

 

She loved to open her eyes to see Chloe groggily yawning and with her arm thrown over Chloe’s toned stomach. She loved the feel of her tarnished skin against Chloe’s. She loved Chloe’s arm draped over hers and her hair brushing lightly against her cheek.

 

She loved the mornings. She loved Chloe trying to get a round in before they headed off in different directions for work. She loved the pout when she pulled away with a smirk. She loved the way they weaved around each other in the bathroom and the kitchen.

 

She loved the waffles and the orange juice. She loved the taste of breakfast on Chloe’s lips and the sunshine in her hair. She loved wrestling for the last bit of milk, because _excuse me_ Cap’n Crunch deserves the milk, take your shit Froot Loops away. (Though, that got a bit aggressive sometimes.)

 

She loved Chloe.

 

“Becs? You’ve got mail from… a fan. You’ve got fan mail! Oh, Beca, this is so cool! Open it!” Beca loved Chloe’s excited squeal. (She also loved that the agency actually hired a team to produce music to keep their cover, though Beca normally produced her own and passed it on to the team to post online.)

 

She reached for the envelope and ripped it open, not caring to be delicate with it. Chloe huffed as she bent to pick up the trash and glared at Beca as she tossed it in the bin without turning to look at it.

 

“Okay, it says: ‘ _Dear DJ BM, you’re my idol and you’ve changed my life so much. I think that your wife-’_ Blah blah blah, things you don’t need to hear from people who aren’t me. Oh, here, _‘Beca, you’re amazing.’_ Gee, I love fans.” Beca grinned as Chloe bumped her shoulder and flicked her directly on the pressure point on her temple.

 

“Let me see it.” Chloe snatched the letter away with a small smile. “Aw, this is actually adorable. Little teenagers in their rooms writing you love letters in fancy cursive.”

 

Beca snorted. She loved mornings.

 

 

 

 

She emptied her gun out at the wall. _3 targets lost. 3 fucking targets._

 

The bullets dug into the dark ink on the wall. They lost Krämer’s right hand man to this dick.

 

_Give up yet?_

 

The message just sat on the wall and Beca threw her gun at it. No more bullets, no problem. She let out a frustrated grunt and inspected the word. It was written in the same font she had used, the style and the weight was similar.

 

It was a flawless forgery, if not, excellent. It made Beca hate them more. Whoever it was.

 

Her team finished sweeping the room, she knew before anyone told her that they found nothing. She snapped a shot of the wall on her cheap flip phone and quickly sent it to Aubrey before hurling the phone on the ground and stamping on it with the heel of her foot.

 

It took two more hours to get back to base due to traffic and being pulled over by the _puny_ cops. She left Emily to deal with the small amount of evidence they could have gathered and to write the report for Aubrey.

 

To get Beca out of the gym she had abused for four hours straight, Jesse had to bribe her with food, threaten her equipment, and beg Aubrey to yell at Beca. (Beca threw a gym ball at Jesse’s head once the blonde turned to leave and stormed to the changing rooms.)

 

She arrived back to the loft in crinkled, food stained flannel, sweat soaked skinny jeans, and a thunderstorm over her head.

 

Chloe didn’t say a word as she dragged herself out of bed to make cookies as Beca brushed past her to shower again and change into something less repulsive.

 

Her spirits had lifted by the time she slumped into the stool at the counter with freshly baked cookies on the table and a disgruntled Chloe Beale half-sleeping at the counter. Not by much. She was still going to kill Jesse for emptying his can of coke and smashing his Subway sandwich on her.

 

They didn’t utter a word to each other as Beca munched into the soft cookie, or when Beca chugged straight from the orange juice carton, though Chloe did give her the evil eye when she finished the entire thing and tossed it in the bin.

 

“What happened?” Chloe finally gave in and asked, the slumber was heavy in her voice, but the genuine concern outweighed it.

 

Beca wrapped the leftover cookies up and placed them in the fridge for later as she thought up of a response. “Boss impaired my hearing and I told her wear to shove it, so she shouted at me more. Then, Jesse slammed his late dinner all over my shirt. Oh, and there was traffic.”

 

Chloe gave her a lazy smile, still draped over the table, and reached out to poke Beca’s cheek.

 

“Don’t do that,” she snapped before sighing and muttering out a feeble apology.

 

Her wife grunted, only forgiving Beca when the brunette swept her off her feet and carried her bridal style back to their bed.

 

And _only_ because she was still half way to snooze mode, she refrained from making a comment on Beca’s height.

 

She frowned when Beca didn’t slip into bed with her and moaned out a, “Beca…”

 

“Go to sleep, Chloe,” Beca said back, not harsh, but not the usual softer way she spoke to Chloe. “I’m going to go mix something.”

 

Chloe huffed, wriggling around to face the window instead of her grumpy wife, too tired to actually force her to sleep, but not too tired to be angry at her.

 

“Night,” Beca grunted out, not getting a reply.

 

 

 

 

Chloe left for work before Beca got up with a stiff back from the sofa, leaving cold pancakes on the counter.

 

She only felt better after jogging to work and thwacking Jesse over the head when he had his back turned.

 

Posen didn’t have any assignments for Beca and Jesse, but the newbies were sent out to scout the locations that the Germans went missing in.

 

The day was spent alternating from the gym, her office, and the shitty hipster café. Chloe didn’t call to check in and neither did Beca. She got a call somewhere during lunch from a frantic Emily calling about a noise in a bush. Turned out to be a squirrel.

 

Beca had laughed at that, sharing it with Jesse who defended the girl. “ _I_ remember when we were two years in and there was a snake that curled up on my leg and you just _laughed_ at me. You’re not alone, Emily.”

 

“Hey, but I watched all three _Star Wars_ movies with you afterwards as an apology!”

 

Emily giggled at their little back-and-forth, but hung up minutes later.

 

She got word about Emily from another newbie, Flo, just as she was leaving work and her good mood dropped immediately.

 

“Agent Beca, oh my god, you have to come here!” Flo babbled over the phone, worry soaked in her voice, “Emily’s stuck in the basement and there’s someone down there with her.”

 

She didn’t hesitate. Not for a second. She flung her bag back onto her chair and reached under her desk to arm herself, apparently getting calls from other newbies on the scene, Jesse and Aubrey hurried to meet her at the entrance.

 

Aubrey stayed behind to contact any agents in the proximity to get on the scene, but none of them could have arrived before Beca.

 

The brunette sprinted half of her journey and was shooting in the dusty windows at the back of the building before Jesse could get a word of reassurance out of his mouth to the other agents.

 

She slung a helmet that she had swiped off another agent’s head over her’s and covered her face.

 

She hopped deftly into the building and made her way to the stairs in under three seconds without making so much of a creak on the ground.

 

Her pistol was gripped in a tight grasp and the other hand slid down to her boots for a melee weapon.

 

The basement lights were on, dim and flickering overhead, and there was the sound of dripping in a corner over the sound of grunts. She raised her gun and pointed at the figures.

 

She approached. They were fighting. Emily was pinned to the ground, but throwing punch after punch at her hooded attacker.

 

Beca pressed the barrel of her gun against the back of the other person, who halted their attack and craned their neck around, their hands wrapped tightly around Emily’s wrist to stop the punching.

 

“Hi there,” the person spoke, robotically, clearly crackly and going through a voice changer.

 

The brunette glared, right hand still pushing the gun hard into their back and left hand reaching to her helmet for her own device. “Get up.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Get up or I’ll shoot you through the head,” Beca’s mutated voice demanded. She moved her gun up and the metal dug into the back of the hoodie of the assailant.

 

Emily clenched her jaw. “Better listen to her, don’t mess with Agent B.”

 

Beca twitched. “ _Agent_ , shut the _fuck_ up.” She growled.

 

No one moved for a heavy second, Beca’s hand shot out and she wrenched the assailant off Emily. “Go.”

 

Emily scrambled to her feet. She sprinted to the base of the stairs, but lingered, uncertainty clear on her face.

 

“Fucking _go_ ,” irritation crept into her voice. She put the assailant against the wall with her gun at the person’s masked face. “Get Jesse down here.”

 

Emily hesitated before doing as told.

 

“She’s not getting far,” the assailant – female, 5’3, bitchy – finally spoke. Before Beca could stop her, she slid a hand into her pocket and a button was pressed. There was a blast, a loud one at that, and a scream.

 

Beca’s face hardened, she thumped the butt of her gun against the assailant’s head. She fell.

 

She bolted up the stairs, there was dust in the air and her mouth was dry. She lifted the visor off her helmet and sprinted to the barricade of cement and wood at the windows.

 

Her ears were ringing and dust was on her tongue, but she didn’t stop as she heaved off chunks of wood and scaffolding, looking for the girl. _God_ , Emily, stupid Emily.

 

“Beca,” her name was stuttered and weak, barely making it through the thick, grimy air. “Beca.”

 

She located the voice, frantically with shaky hands. Emily was trapped under a block of cement and a plank. “Emily,” she rushed out, relieved. “Emily, you’re going to be okay, you hear me? Emily?”

 

The girl nodded, blood was leaking out of a gash on her head and her eyelids fluttered.

 

Beca cursed, it came out awkward and mechanically. She ripped the tank top that she wore under her other layers and placed the tattered cloth against Emily’s head.

 

“Alpha 1!” Jesse’s voice sounded from the other side of the barricade. Muffled and faint, he shouted again, “Agent!”

 

“We’re alive, keep on pulling from the top, Agent Em is under rubble.” She heard a creak behind her and she clenched her fists. “Hurry up, Alpha 2, I have a bitch to take down.”

 

The assailant crossed her arms over her chest and scoffed. “Ex _cuse_ me?”

 

Beca swung her arm around and fired a shot, missing by an inch. The assailant rolled behind an overturned table.

 

She had to get her away from Emily, she violently pushed the visor back down. “Why are you here?”

 

“Mostly curiosity,” came the voice from behind the table. “Are you the one writing those lovely messages for me?”

 

“Are you the one replying?” Beca side stepped onto the staircase to the second floor and pacing up to the top, her feet were fast and she didn’t falter or miss a step, almost like a dance. “I’m not going to kill you.”

 

“You couldn’t if you tried.” The assailant followed up the stairs, ducking behind a sofa as bullets rained. “Is this you trying?”

 

Beca grit her teeth, she was crouched behind a cabinet. “I literally just said I’m not going to kill you.”

 

“Then what _are_ you trying to do?”

 

“Injure you very, very much and torture information out of you.”

 

“That’s a bit morbid. By the way, where’s the dick you wanted me to suck?” the voice somehow managed to sound mocking through the crackling.

 

Beca fired a shot through the sofa and got one in return. “How’s your someone with a vagina?”

 

An unflattering laugh followed, it was a terrible sound. It was broken up and it was terrible. “She’s grumpy and kind of a bitch right now.”

 

“I’m glad.” She tossed the gun aside when it clicked – out of bullets – and reached for her back up. “Where’s Krämer and the other DSM minions? Where did you take them?”

 

“You’re not getting anything outta me.”

 

A bullet whizzed past her head and she snarled, firing right back. She dived out and rolled onto the other side of the sofa. “You’re not getting anything outta me.”

 

She kicked the back over, so she was standing on the overturned sofa with her gun aimed at an empty spot. Wait, what?

 

A click. She sighed, lowering the gun and slowly turning around. “Give up yet?”

 

Beca cocked her head to the side and shrugged. Then, her hand shot out, twisting the gun out of the assailant’s surprisingly strong grip and pointing it at her. “Nah. Get on your knees.”

 

“Whoa, I’m taken, remember?”

 

“She’s sort of a bitch, isn’t she? Get on your fucking knees or I’ll shoot you in the leg and get you there myself,” Beca demanded.

 

The other woman grunted as she slowly lowered herself.

 

Beca fired a shot at the wall, the bullet tore through the edge of the hoodie as it flew by. “Hands in the air, I’m not falling for that again.”

 

“Got me there.” The woman’s hand sunk into her sleeve and it whipped out with a knife, slicing Beca’s arm. “But not here, sorry about that.”

 

Sorry Beca’s ass.

 

Beca winced at the burning in her left arm, but shot out with her own knife and slicing through cotton and skin.

 

“Alpha 1!” Jesse’s voice echoed from the bottom of the stairs, heavy footsteps creaked on the wooden floor, when she turned back around, the woman was hopping out the window. She groaned. “Are you alright?”

 

“Where’s Emily?”

 

She pushed past Jesse, ignoring the searing in her arm, and into the cold air. There wasn’t a trace of the woman ever being out here and Beca knew she wouldn’t find any.

 

“She’s already heading back to base in the van and the rest of the agents are being debriefed or whatever Posen wants them to do,” her partner’s voice rang out behind her, cutting through the sooty air.

 

Beca glanced down at her hands. Blood and dirt stained the dark gloves, and there was a tear between the index finger and thumb on her right hand.

 

“Okay, Jesse,” she finally spoke. She thrusted the knife into his hands and pressed down on her injured arm in an iron grip. “Take it back, run samples on the blood.”

 

“Where are you going?” Jesse asked. He frowned, but put the knife in a zip lock dutifully. “Beca, are you alright?”

 

Beca didn’t reply at first, eyes scanning and analyzing every inch of the greenery behind the building.

 

She gave Jesse a shrug, finally turning away and heading to hail a cab. “Dude, I’m spent.”

 

“Get it bandaged, don’t let wifey worry.”

 

Beca closed her eyes and blew out a sharp breath from her nose. “I wouldn’t.”

 

 

 

 

Chloe’s stare made Beca’s skin itch. Seriously itch. It wasn’t the sexual way either (shame).

 

“What?” she snapped. It wasn’t her fault, Chloe was seriously creeping the fuck out of her.

 

“You’ve been in such a bad mood lately, Becs.”

 

Beca stared back hard, her shoulders fell and then her head did, too. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Yeah? Well, sorry isn’t going to cut it. Tell me what’s wrong.” Chloe dropped the salad she was mixing onto the counter and joined Beca on the couch.

 

Chloe’s head came to rest on Beca’s shoulder and she sighed when Beca’s head fell against hers.

 

“C’mon, Becs, you have to let it out. You’ve been cranky, rude-”

 

“But that’s normal.”

 

“ _You’ve been_ cranky, rude, coming home late and staying up to mix, and you’ve been avoiding me,” Chloe murmured.

 

Beca grimaced at the vulnerability in Chloe’s voice. “I’m not cheating on you, by the way. Like, just so you know, I’m still very in love with you, so…”

 

“God, Beca, I _know_ that. Why would you even _mention_ that?” Chloe tugged at her hair in agitation. “I _know_ you wouldn’t.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she said again. She didn’t know what more to say.

 

Chloe grumbled, nuzzling her face into Beca’s neck. “Tell me why you’ve been avoiding you.”

 

“I’m not avoiding you,” Beca responded immediately. “I’d do much better than this if I was. We’re married, Chloe, why the fuck would I avoid my wife? It’s also kinda hard when we live together.”

 

Chloe rolled her eyes at Beca’s feeble attempts at being awkward and exasperated enough to avoid this conversation. “That’s not going to work, Becs.”

 

“What’s not going to work?”

 

“You being irritating and snarky enough to stop this conversation from happening. That’s not going to work. Tell me why you don’t sleep in our bed anymore.”

 

Beca harrumphed at how easily Chloe could read her and thwart her tactics. She honestly needed to go back to the academy and touch up on her strategies. “I’m just tired and work is shitty, so I mix, and I just go to sleep. It’s not personal or whatever.”

 

“Ugh, Beca, I’m seriously getting _frustrated_ with how tired you are.”

 

Beca figured it wasn’t the type of frustration that made Chloe pull her own hair out, it’s the type that made her pull Beca’s.

 

But Beca was still Beca and there’s a huge cut on her arm that she couldn’t have possible getting from mixing to hard or belting out lyrics too much, so she pulled away.

 

Not by much, but it was enough to let her stick her hand in Chloe’s pants from a less awkward angle.

 

Beca was still Beca, and Beca Mitchell was so in love with Chloe Beale.

 

Suddenly, they were back in the honeymoon phase (but with their shirts on, because who’s _bothered_ to take their shirts off, or that’s what Beca told Chloe) and Chloe was professing her undying love loudly.

 

 

 

 

Once Beca’s hand was nicely healed (she had a faint scar, but it was easily covered up), she got a membership for a gym near the loft.

 

“You have a gym membership?” Chloe had asked when she found the card strewn on the coffee table along with a sock. “And put your laundry away, Beca, it smells.”

 

Beca swiped her sock away and threw it behind her, it landed on the floor and Chloe scowled at her until she picked it up again. “I do, why are you so surprised?”

 

“Um, because you spend your weekends on the couch or the bed or at the fridge. How am I supposed to know you’re actually _active_?” Chloe asked as Beca chucked her sock into the laundry basket.

 

Her wife huffed and flipped Chloe the bird. “ _Excuse me_ , I’m not _that_ lazy.”

 

Chloe gave her an unconvinced raise of her eyebrows. “I asked you to go buy me pads once and you pretended to sleep.”

 

“Oh, you knew about that?” Apparently, she needed to touch up on acting as well. “Oops.”

 

Chloe giggled at Beca’s sheepish shrug and opened her arms for the smaller girl to enter. “We should totally work out together, Becs!”

 

Beca scoffed, “But I’m not that active, _Chloe_.”

 

“Oh, shut up, Mitchell, just get up early on Saturday and go to the gym with me.”

 

“Whatever,” Beca muttered into Chloe’s shoulder. “By the way, how do you think I have such a rad body if I didn’t go to the gym?”

 

“Did you just describe your body as rad?” Chloe laughed.

 

Beca jabbed her stomach with a gasp. “Are you saying my body isn’t rad?”

 

“Oh, no, course not. It’s totes rad. It’s dope. Like, dude, whatever.”

 

“Are you mocking me? I swear to god, Chloe.”

 

Turned out Chloe was pretty taken by Beca’s dope body. They both wondered why they didn’t start working out together a long time ago, it helped with their fitness and they had a pretty good view of each other’s half-naked bodies.

 

 

 

 

Beca knew she probably should’ve called to tell Chloe she wouldn’t be going back to the loft. She also knew she probably shouldn’t have told her to piss off when she showed up at Residual Heat with coffee.

 

She hadn’t stopped hunting for the bitch at the basement, she came pretty close to seeing her again, though.

 

They had found another DSM hideout in another empty warehouse, on the wall there was a freshly drawn heart and Beca was sure she saw a flash of black and grey darting out the other entrance, but by the time she had sprinted over, it was gone.

 

Emily had almost lost a leg. Emily had almost lost a leg and had lost half her spirit, but physical therapy with a doctor she had a huge crush on was doing her good. (Beca would have to have a talk with the doctor later, it wasn’t her fault she had grown incredibly protective over the girl.)

 

She sighed when she got home and found the bedroom door locked from the inside. Well, she wasn’t unfamiliar with the couch anyway, so she crashed there for the night.

 

Waking up early and leaving a nicely made bowl of cereal behind for Chloe, she left for work.

 

By noon, she was already festering with guilt with the way she had treated Chloe. Even a good match with Jesse at the gym and target practice didn’t lift her spirits.

 

Fucking hell, marriage was so hard when you were an angry spy hunting a bitch in a hoodie who beat up your fellow spy.

 

Her mind registered an old memory. Fan mail. She pulled a fresh sheet of A4 from her desk and chewed her lips, wondering whether being a cliché, cheesy piece of shit was worth it.

 

She groaned, knowing she’d write it anyway, because Chloe was so fucking worth it. Her grip on the pen tightened and she began in cursive.

 

When she was done, she folded it nicely and shoved it in an envelope (not even trying to be careful anymore, she wrote a goddamn fancy letter to her wife, that’s good enough). Then she got to her feet, slinging a bag over her shoulder and headed out.

 

A perk of her job, work hours were pretty much up to her and Posen. She took Emily’s bike from its stand outside the building – it hasn’t moved since the accident – and threw her leg over it.

 

Marriage wasn’t hard, _honest_ marriages were hard, well, honest for her was hard.

 

She was a spy. She wasn’t truthful to anyone, really. Her parents thought she was dead, Jesse thought it was okay to call her bi-bro, Posen thought she was a snarky bitch with a shit attitude (okay, that one was debatable).

 

Beca pedaled all the way to the quaint shop on the other side of town and pulled to a stop outside, leaning the bike against the window. She pushed the door open and it chimed. The stupid chime Chloe liked.

 

The store wasn’t the biggest, sure, but it was beautifully decorated.

 

The walls were a light blue, almost white, that contrasted with the dark shades of the pianos. Guitars, trumpets, and the other instruments from the brass and strings family lined the walls neatly.

 

There was a shiny, emerald coloured drum set by the window where a kid was bashing on it – okay that was annoying – and rows of CDs and books of sheet music sitting on smooth, clean shelves at the back area.

 

Chloe wasn’t at the counter, but her coworker was. “Um, hi, Stella, right?”

 

Stella glanced up from the computer screen, once seeing who it was, she tugged her shirt lower and twirled her hair. “Yeah, and you?”

 

“Chloe’s wife,” Beca responded with a quirked eyebrow.

 

“Oh, in that case, what do you want, bitch?” Stella stopped brushing through her hair, but didn’t bother pulling her shirt into place. “She’s sort of angry at you right now, so don’t take that personally, it’s sort of friend rule to be annoyed with you.”

 

Beca winced, anxiously pulling at the cloth of her shoulder strap. “Yeah, I’ve been really snippy lately and stuff, so, like, I’m here to apologize. I mean, if you let me go talk to her.”

 

“Ah, sorry, but she isn’t even here. She went out to buy us lunch, but I can take a message.”

 

“Right, yeah, please. Thanks. I mean, not really a message, but here, it’s a letter. It’s a thing. She – um, it’s a thing,” she finished lamely, handing the envelope to Stella and stepping back. “Uh, yeah. Thanks. I’m just gonna go, like, now.”

 

Stella gave her an amused look, twiddling her fingers in the air with a giggle. “Bye.”

 

“Right. Bye.”

 

 

 

 

She hadn’t managed to even sit down at her desk when her door burst open and Jesse stumbled in.

 

“I saw Krämer. I saw Krämer across from the shitty hipster café, we gotta move now.”

 

Beca’ll be damned if the hooded bitch got close to her targets again.

 

They get to the bricked building where they captured the domestic terrorist that one time in under fifteen minutes. This time, they were equipped properly and on guard.

 

When they arrived, Fat Amy, Lilly, and Cynthia Rose flanking them, they kicked the doors down, covering each possible exit and entered with guns poised.

 

She and Jesse were at the front, they shot the first two at the door in the knees and waited for the other three to brush past to cuff them and sweep the first floor.

 

They bolted up the stairs side by side, finding four more people – all armed and ready. Beca instantly shot at them and yanked Jesse down, taking cover.

 

Shots rang out all around them, Fat Amy’s overdramatic screeching were almost as loud as the bullets lodging themselves in the wall inches away from Beca’s face.

 

She lashed her right arm over the banister and shot at the closest man, the first bullet missed his knee, the second tore through the flesh of his gun hand. He screamed and stumbled down to his knees, desperately grasping at the hole in his hand.

 

Beca shot him again in the leg before ducking down again just as Jesse disabled a woman with a pixie cut who was cursing loudly in German. Lilly crept up the stairs after them, whispering threats under her breath (Beca didn’t bother finding out what she was saying).

 

The next thing she knew, Jesse was tumbling down the stairs with a bullet in his thigh and a graze on his shoulder. Beca roared, firing off three bullets at the woman who had injured Jesse, each hit her in the leg.

 

“5, Alpha 2 is at the base of stairs, injured,” she spoke over the bullets into the comm in her helmet.

 

“Say no more, boss, we’re loading the targets in the van with the newbies and we’ll be right over,” Amy’s voice crackled through.

 

Beca nodded at Amy when she waved from the bottom of the stairs and helped a struggling Jesse off the floor. Cynthia Rose emerged after Amy, she climbed the stairs after checking Jesse’s injuries and ensuring it wasn’t life-threatening.

 

“One more,” Beca muttered, otherwise, the house was silent.

 

She shot to her feet, gun pointed and eyes searching. She saw a knee sticking out from behind the couch. She fired. The knee jerked back, the bone inside shattered and blood seeped out, colouring the dark denim in a sickly shade of red.

 

The man screeched as they approached. He raised his gun shakily as Beca came into view and she didn’t blink when he fired.

 

Her eyes did widen and she did judder backwards as the bullet ripped into her shoulder. The gun toppled from her hand.

 

“A1!” Cynthia Rose fired a shot at the man’s shoulder, returning the favour, before turning and pulling Beca onto the sofa. She nodded at Lilly to sweep the rest of the rooms. “We gotta get you outta here.”

 

Beca shook her head. She turned on the voice changer with a grim face and picked her gun up with her left hand. “Let’s go on. One more floor and we’re clear. Call for backup, tell them to wait for my orders, oh, and try to keep Posen away from this. She’s a pain in my ass.”

 

Cynthia Rose looked ready to protest, but thought better of it when Beca reloaded her gun and followed after Lilly’s gunshots.

 

Lilly had already disarmed most of the Germans on the floor, giving Beca a curt nod when the brunette breezed by her and shot the last two in the knee. “Cuff ‘em, tell Amy to bring them out. Let’s go third floor.”

 

The third floor was a wide room covered in thick layers of soot and dust, there weren’t any walls to divide it into rooms. There were tables and weapons lining the room, though, and the place was covered in images and plans.

 

She placed a finger to her lips, beckoning Cynthia Rose and Lilly to follow after her.

 

Krämer and a blonde woman had their back turned to them, they were scanning over plans and muttering in German to each other.

 

“I know you are there, little mouse,” a smooth, accented voice slid out the throat of the blonde woman like silk. Beca decided she didn’t like silk all that much. She turned with her gun pointing right at Beca’s head. “Aw, look what we have here.”

 

All three guns from Beca’s side pointed at the blonde woman.

 

“You call me Kommisar,” she introduced with a smirk. “I hope you are ready to be defeated.”

 

“Well, um, you can, like, be defeated, too,” Beca spluttered out. “I mean, what does DSM even stand for? ‘Cause, like – okay seriously, someone, please, come up with something threatening, because I’m failing terribly.”

 

Cynthia Rose cleared her throat, her voice changer activated as well, but Lilly cut her to the chase (surprising both of her teammates), “I know how many seconds it takes for a human to boil in water.”

 

Beca blinked. “Okay. That was much better.”

 

“You are a silly bunch of tiny spies,” Krämer commented. “It will be a shame when I shoot you.”

 

With that, Krämer pulled out a submachine gun as Kommisar knocked the gun out of Beca’s hand and kicked her square in the stomach.

 

Lilly pulled Cynthia Rose down and fired a bullet at Krämer with scary precision. Krämer’s index finger burst with blood and the submachine gun fell to the floor. Cynthia Rose didn’t move.

 

Beca whirled around to avoid another kick and pummeled her left fist into Kommisar’s face. The blonde stumbled back, but regained balance quickly enough. “I’m surprised you reached my face, mouse.”

 

The spy pulled a gun from her belt and fired a shot at Kommisar, it missed. Kommisar dove forward, tackling Beca to the floor with a thud.

 

Beca elbowed her in the face, reflexes quick, but strength low due to the god _damn_ bullet in her right shoulder, _fuck_. She hissed, but grit her teeth and punched the blonde bitch in the face with her left fist.

 

Kommisar rolled away and when she pushed to her feet, Beca had a gun leveled between her eyes.

 

She lifted her chin up and gave the blonde a defiant glare, as if daring her to fucking move an inch.

 

Kommisar twitched. Beca put a bullet through both knees and kicked her to the floor.

 

Beca crouched down, roughly tugging the blonde’s face around. “First knee is for Emily, Jesse, and Cynthia Rose. Second knee is for whoever that annoying bitch in the hoodie is, just know that I will hunt her down. The kick is for pure amusement.”

 

“I do not know who the hood is,” Kommisar spat out.

 

“Right, and I don’t work for Posen.” Beca stood, turning to see Krämer limping to the window and Lilly and Cynthia Rose gone. “Is Alpha 3 and 4 okay?”

 

Amy replied again, “Yeah, she’ll be a-okay.” Beca sighed in relief. She plucked a pen from her pocket and began writing on the wall. “Same goes for Jessie J., speaking of that, one time- Shit just got real, the hoodie bitch is on the roof. Do you need backup?”

 

“No.” Beca clenched her jaw as she slipped the pen back in her pocket. “I had a feeling she’d be coming soon.”

 

She strode to Krämer and kicked him in the knee, bringing him down to the ground, his head collided with the windowsill with a ‘thunk’.

 

When the hooded figure vaulted through the window, she found a gun in her face. “Oh.”

 

“Give up yet?”

 

“You’re the good guys?” was her reply, almost sounding surprised if it wasn’t for the voice changer – Beca was pretty sure the surprise wasn’t due to the gun pointed at her head.

 

Beca sniffed. “I mean, technically. Doesn’t mean we’re good people.”

 

“I’m sure you are, look, bad guys don’t draw hearts on walls for their rivals.” The hooded woman walked past Beca, seemingly not caring about the gun, and ran her fingers over the crumbling wall that was a mix of brick and cement.

 

“Rivals?” Beca lowered her gun, but her senses were on high alert.

 

“ _I hope you still have your bitchy vagina specimen to cry to, because I just took your boss,_ ” The hooded woman read aloud. “As a matter of fact, I do. But, I’m sort of pissed at her, so I sort of don’t.”

 

Beca rolled her eyes. “Just so you know, I wasn’t done writing on that, so, like…” she trailed off, unsure how to continue. “I’m normally much wittier than that, but I think I’m bleeding out from my shoulder and I have a vagina specimen of my own to deal with later.”

 

The person hummed in thought. “I don’t work for DSM, by the way, I’m working against them. Like you.”

 

Beca scowled, her muscles tensing.

 

“I wouldn’t put explosives in a building to trap a rival and almost cripple a newly trained field agent for life in the process. We’re not the same,” Beca hissed. The gun was raised again, her trigger finger itched.

 

“I-” the words seemed stuck, caught up in the voice changer and warped, crackled. “I didn’t put that much gun powder, the worst she could have gotten was a broken bone.”

 

Beca growled, “She has to go through two more months of physical therapy.”

 

“I’m sorry, seriously, I’m sorry. I didn’t know, but, I swear, I had it designed so the rubble would go outwards to barricade the place from the outside.” The hooded bitch glanced away, seemingly looking at Beca’s incomplete message.

 

“Then, what the fuck happened?” Beca growled. “We swept the place for any weapons from DSM and took everything in to evidence. There is _nothing_ there left from DSM. _Nothing._ ”

 

Shaking her head, the hooded woman backed up. “My source says they brought in bombs. Did you take the bombs? Under the floorboards or something. _God_ , did you take the bombs from under the floorboards?”

 

Beca swallowed the lump in her throat.

 

The other woman sighed, she shoved her hands into her pocket and Beca’s gun stretched out. The hooded bitch turned, taking her hands out her pocket in clenched fists. “It wasn’t my fault.”

 

“You set them off, unintentionally or not, Emily is in the hospital, because of you,” Beca countered. “I _will_ kill you for that, and for stealing my targets.”

 

“You can try.”

 

Before Beca could stop her, she was out the window and gone.

 

 

 

 

Beca was on a business trip. Ish. That’s what she told Chloe. In reality, she was under a watchful eye at a hospital where her shoulder was healing. Taking its stupid fucking time healing.

 

At least she had Jesse in the next room – his leg wasn’t much better – and Emily came to visit frequently with her puppy of a doctor in tow (she had her stern talking to with him and he promised her he wasn’t in any type of relationship with her).

 

Living off of hospital food and having only her phone and Jesse as entertainment for her entire stay was enough to make her go crazy if not for the constant selfies Chloe was sending her over snapchat.

 

Chloe. Beca grinned at the thought of seeing her wife again. Thank god, her ‘trip’ was over. One more day of Jesse’s references and chunky potatoes would have sent her diving through her hospital room window.

 

She strode out the elevator and flung her bag onto the floor. It was silent. Chloe was normally back by now and she even messaged Beca saying she was waiting for her at home.

 

Beca narrowed her eyes, she felt for the handgun in her waistband and flicked the safety off. None of the lights were on.

 

The gun she had stashed behind the fridge was gone and she felt her heart leap into her throat. Chloe. _Fuck_ , Chloe better be okay. She opened the fridge, feeling for the grenade she kept in the duct taped ice cream carton, which she sliced open with a kitchen knife – she kept that, too.

 

‘Thump’. She spun, gun raised. A grenade. At her feet. She swept it up and tossed it at the living room swiftly. It exploded in midair.

 

“What the _fuck_?” She scrambled up from behind the kitchen counter and scanned the room for movement.

 

She fired at the sound of shuffling, it hit the wall. “Chloe better be okay!” she snarled out loud at her attacker.

 

“Awfully worried about me for someone who just shot at me. How’s the shoulder, _wifey?_ ”

 

Beca’s stomach turned, her heart dropped, and her grip loosened. _Innocent, honest Chloe._

 

“Oh my god,” Beca muttered, feeling sick. “Oh my _god_.”

 

Chloe laughed humourlessly, dry. It was worse than the robotic cackle she heard from the hoodie bitch. _Oh my god_ , the hoodie bitch.

 

Beca tightened her hold on the gun and fired off again. “You’re the hoodie bitch.”

 

“You’re the fancy asshole,” Chloe called back.

 

“How the fuck was I fancy? I dress appropriately, you wear fucking hoodies!”

 

Chloe’s gun clicked.

 

“Guess you’re out, _honey,_ ” Beca hissed, ducking behind an arm chair to get closer to Chloe’s spot.

 

Her wife snorted. “I have _your_ weapons and mine, guess we both brought our work home.”

 

Beca’s knuckles turned white and her eyes turned to ice. “Guess so. You didn’t find the one in the ice cream carton, babe.”

 

“You’re so big on pet names now that you’re trying to kill me.” Chloe reloaded her pistol and pulled out another, wielding both out in front of her and shooting at the arm chair. “I always wondered why you bought the flavor I hated most and never ate from it.”

 

“Let me guess, the hideous pair of socks at the back of your drawer, you hide ammo in that.” Beca threw her grenade, but Chloe swept it up and chucked it into their bathroom.

 

Chloe growled, hurling the guns away and grabbing the submachine gun from under the ruined sofa. “I wear those socks all the time, Beca, those are my favourite pair!”

 

“What do you keep in that huge ass teddy bear you never let me touch?”

 

“A rocket launcher.”

 

Beca’s eyes widened, she shot to her feet and dove for cover behind the flat screen TV just as the arm chair burst.

 

“Do you _want_ the neighbours to hear?” Beca huffed.

 

Chloe laughed again, the one Beca hated. “Please, I know you bought out the two floor below us, I bought out the next two.”

 

Holes poked through the TV and narrowly missed Beca’s newly healed shoulder. “ _Dude_ , I’m a spy, but flat screens still cost a fuck ton.”

 

She didn’t get a response, so she peeked around to see Chloe tossing away the jammed gun and reaching for _Beca’s_ guns. Beca stuck her arm out and shot at her wife, who looked up at that moment and twisted away.

 

“Who’s Jay?” Chloe asked. “Do you even mix?”

 

Beca tore the back off the TV and pulled out the ammo, which she stuffed into her pocket. “Who the fuck is Stella?”

 

Chloe’s response was knocking the TV off the table by throwing furniture at it. Beca dove out from under the toppling TV. “I _swear_ to god, Chloe, you’re paying for that.”

 

“With money or with my life?” A bullet tore through her coat. “Oh, did I get your other shoulder?”

 

Beca reloaded and shot at Chloe who ducked into the hallway. She followed, firing around the corner and not stopping until it clicked. She slid the ammo in, no more spares, and sprinted into her study where all her books were shoved onto the floor.

 

An arm shot out and pulled her into a choke hold. “Looks like I’ll be the only one enjoying the new flat screen,” Chloe’s low voice rasped out in her ear.

 

Beca grunted, crouching down and bringing Chloe with her, she flipped her wife over her head.

 

“Suck my dick, after all, I _am_ the bitchy vagina specimen,” Beca spat out, gun aimed down as Chloe’s raised up at her.

 

Chloe stared into her eyes with a harsh glare. “Why did you lie to me?”

 

“If I fucking recall, we’re both liars.” Beca tightened her hold on the gun and glared back.

 

Chloe stayed silent before she launched her foot up and knocked the gun out of Beca’s hand with a kick. Beca spun away before Chloe could point her gun again and swiped at Chloe with the – oh, for fucks sake – butter knife.

 

She elbowed the gun out of her wife’s hand and backed into her desk where she grabbed the gun Chloe hadn’t found still stashed in the back compartment of a drawer. When she finally had the gun ready and pointed, Chloe was in front of her with her last gun.

 

Beca licked her lips and shifted in the swivel chair. “Jesse would love this shit.”

 

Chloe raised an eyebrow, hand unwavering. “Stacie would laugh at us.”

 

The brunette snorted. “I would, too.”

 

Her wife didn’t respond, Beca didn’t expect her to.

 

They stared.

 

And stared.

 

Beca slipped a pen out of her pocket, she ducked just as she jammed the pen into Chloe’s gun hand. The bullet lodged into the swivel chair before the gun fell to the floor, Beca kicked it away from under the desk.

 

She pushed back to her feet, only to be greeted by a punch in the face. She faltered into the chair, but recovered quickly, she picked the chair up effortlessly and heaved it at Chloe.

 

Chloe managed to stoop just in time. She grabbed the scissors off Beca’s desk as she straightened and aimed it at Beca, who shot it away in midair with a bullet. “Well, at least your aim is good, unlike your investigation skills. Can’t believe you didn’t check under the floorboards.”

 

“Why didn’t _you_ check when you were hooking up that trap?” Beca snapped back, firing, but only managing to shoot chunks off the corners of her desk.

 

Chloe hooked her fingers under the desk and flipped it over, sending it into Beca’s midsection.

 

The brunette fell with it, her gun flew out of her hand. Chloe smirked as she stepped around the desk and made for the gun, a hand shot out and tugged at her leg. She landed with an ‘oof’ and an irritated groan.

 

Beca wriggled out from under the table and hurriedly straddled Chloe with her butter knife against Chloe’s neck. “I _can_ mix. I actually do some of the work for my cover. I don’t send myself fan mail. I do hate movies.”

 

Chloe didn’t say anything, she couldn’t. The metal was digging into her skin and Beca’s weight was firm against her, her legs placed professionally, so she couldn’t wriggle out or buck her off.

 

Beca blinked at the silence, pulling the knife away the tiniest amount.

 

For a while, not a word was shared between the two. The dust settled and the air thickened.

 

Then, Chloe spoke, softly and delicately, “Were we real?”

 

“I loved you,” Beca replied, just as carefully, a whisper barely detectable. “I loved Chloe Beale.”

 

The answer almost destroyed Chloe, almost.

 

“I loved Beca Mitchell,” she said instead of crying.

 

A smile tugged at the corners of Beca’s lips, but the knife dug into her throat again.

 

Despite the cold on her neck, she smiled, too. “I’m actually a Chloe, by the way. I’m actually Chloe Beale.”

 

“Same.” Beca nodded, her eyes softer somehow, but she didn’t let go of the knife. “I mean, I’m not Chloe Beale, I’m Beca Mitchell.”

 

“So, you’re still awkward.”

 

Beca snorted. “You won’t believe.”

 

Chloe held Beca’s gaze as her hand snuck up, and up, and up, and she wrenched the knife away from her throat. The knife clattered away, but no one paid mind to it. Chloe reached up, pushing Beca’s body on to her claves, and wrapped her fingers around Beca’s neck.

 

“You’re still Beca Mitchell.”

 

Beca’s face contorted into a glower, teeth bared and eyebrows tugged together. “You’re not Chloe Beale,” she spat out through clenched teeth. “You’re lethal.”

 

“You are, too.” Chloe tightened her hold ever so slightly, not batting an eye when Beca’s slender fingers did the same. “You are.”

 

They tightened their grips, Chloe bent her knees into herself to get Beca’s weight completely off her and Beca leaned forward on her knees.

 

Chloe let go, her hands flying to Beca’s arms and twisting them off her neck. Beca threw a punch which Chloe blocked with her forearm and returned with a backhand.

 

The redhead rushed to her feet and advanced as Beca retreated with a glare, her back hit the wall. She twisted away to avoid a foot clad in combat boots and had enough time to swerve to avoid an elbow to the face.

 

She pitched forward, pressing against Beca’s small frame. She shoved her right arm against Beca’s throat and her left hand forced Beca’s right arm up against the wall.

 

Beca’s left hand shot up to curl around Chloe’s neck again, her thumb pressing against her throat just above the collarbone and the nails leaving crescent shaped marks.

 

Beca pulled, then, she tugged, and Chloe did, too. They met half way, angrily, frantically. More teeth and nails, than lips and skin.

 

Beca gasped as Chloe clawed her coat off and threw it aside.

 

“Still want to kill me?” Chloe muttered against Beca’s neck between kisses and clawing.

 

“Shut the fuck up,” the brunette hissed as Chloe’s teeth dug into the flesh where her fingers were previously.

 

She spun them round and thrusted her wife roughly against the wall, pressing kisses down her neck and collarbone.

 

Beca tore away Chloe’s blouse and went to assault her skin again, she hovered just above the expanse of untouched skin before tracing a feather light finger down the edges of a jagged scar. She met Chloe’s gaze, paralyzing, deep blue.

 

She scraped her nail against the untouched skin before surging up and meeting hungry lips.

 

“How did you know it was me?” she grunted against Chloe’s desperate lips.

 

“Your letter,” she muttered, working to pull off Beca’s jeans. “The cursive on the wall is the same on the letter.”

 

Beca would have berated herself for using the same handwriting if she wasn’t so distracted by the moan that bubbled out from her wife. Her wife.

 

“What are we going to do?” Chloe asked through breathy whimpers. “Beca. What are we going to do?”

 

The brunette smirked against how skin, brushing the hair out of Chloe's face.

 

“Kick ass.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, feedback and any form of criticism is welcome!!
> 
> im unsure about the ending, as i said before its up to your imagination what happens after that, i had a whole story planned out for them after that, but decided against putting it in, if youd like to know what it is leave a message at my side blog chlloebeale.tumblr.com!!  
> 


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